The soldiers glanced at one another with sour faces. “Then ask,” Rufio said acidly.
“Where are we?” said Christóbal. “In relation to the world, I mean? Exactly where is this dream city and lost continent?”
“You are sitting approximately 2,500 meters beneath the waters of the ocean, on a land that was once part of the surface. Thousands of years ago during the worst earthquake the world has ever known, it was submerged. Our island now rests upon a vast underwater plateau set precariously within an ocean-floor mountain range of staggering proportions.” Rufio moved his hands in a choppy geometrical gesture. “So enormous are these mountains that the mighty Alps of Europe would be little more than anthills beside them. The Two Plates — our continent — is wedged into this mass, perfectly balanced, covered by an umbrella of air which counters the gravity of the ocean pressure and keeps us intact.”
Aladdin crossed his legs, listening with interest. “Shaman once referred to us as being inside a gigantic bubble,” he recalled aloud.
General Flavius nodded. “A fascinating analogy, but perhaps gigantic eggshell would be a more appropriate term to use.” He lifted his walking stick and using it as a pointer, ran the tip across the blue-hued area that encircled the Two Plates on the great map. You see, our so-called protective umbrella, while it has served us for so many centuries, is really quite fragile. Under certain circumstances, it can be punctured. Fortunately, the fissures have been small so far, and our science has advanced to the point where we can deal with such ruptures.” He lowered the walking stick to his side and looked severely at Aladdin, adding, “But make no mistake about it; all that prevents the sea from rushing in on us is the ‘eggshell’ of awesome pressure. In short, we have a wall, if you will, which sustains us against nature’s onslaught.”
Beginning to feel a little claustrophobic, Aladdin drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And, should this wall ever collapse — ?”
Flavius smiled without humour. “We’d crack like an egg. The ocean would spill over us like a tidal wave.”
“We’d all drown,” offer Christóbal, fidgeting.
“Hardly,” answered the old general with a grimace. “Understand that under water pressures are far different from surface pressures. Should our bubble burst, we would all no doubt be crushed like grapes, imploded, and dead long before there was time to drown.”
The very thought of having the air squeezed out of his lungs made the Spaniard queasy. Aladdin shared his discomfort, as he said, “Then why didn’t something like that happen to us during Passage? Surely we encountered the same fierce pressures on the way down?”
“Not exactly,” said Rufio. “The descent to Cinnabar is safe because of our funnel — a waterspout, which you may have thought of as being a whirlpool.” Aladdin nodded remembering well his first glimpse of it. “Think of the funnel as a tornado of water,” the Legion Commander went on. “Its walls are spinning so fast and with such magnitude and force that a surface-like pressure is maintained during the entire descent. A plunging ship lowers itself in stages, slowly, making the necessary adjustments as it reaches each successive level; Passage can be quite taxing on a man, even hazardous, depending on time of year, weather, and oceanic disturbances; but it is, nevertheless, quite safe — as your being here now proves.”
“You must realise that the funnel is not a straight drop,” Eleazer added in explanation. “Rather, it progresses at an angle.” He demonstrated by using his hand as a plane, showing how the funnel descends gradually among the massive undersea peaks and makes its journey to the twin-plated plateau.
“Quite an achievement,” muttered an impressed Aladdin.
“Quite,” agreed Eleazer. “To make an ascent back up to the surface, then, the process is reversed. The motion of the funnel is reversed to counter-clockwise. The ship climbs up the spinning water, stage by stage, until it reaches the surface.”
“And this funnel also provides you with fresh surface air,” Aladdin said thoughtfully.
General Flavius grinned like a schoolmaster proud of his prize pupil. “An astute observation. Indeed, from the funnel we receive oxygen in steady supply. It is pumped through special locks and tunnels, which filter it, and keep it constantly recirculating throughout Cinnabar.”
Aladdin could only shake his head in amazement. The story he was being told was so incredible, so mind-boggling that, had he not been here personally, he’d have thought his hosts to be a group of raving lunatics. But of course this was precisely his opinion of Shaman when they’d met.
“What about your food sources? Do you have ships which journey regularly to the surface?”
The three soldiers smiled condescendingly, the kind of smile generally reserved for small children or simpletons.
“We have no need for the surface at all,” Flavius told Aladdin. “In fact, food is perhaps Cinnabar’s greatest surplus. The sea provides us with an abundance of everything — and what it doesn’t yield we have learned to grow right here in our greenhouses and sunless fields.”
“We saw such groves surrounding the city,” said Christóbal.
“Yes. We have even developed ways of producing new life down here, where your sun never shines. The Two Plates is a land remarkable in natural resources, I assure you. We mine the mountains for minerals, derive ore from the seabeds, desalinate the ocean water to make it fresh, and use the sea’s awesome powers to provide us with energy and steam-generated capability that your surface nations can only dream of. Indeed, we consider your world to be basically primitive.”
Aladdin leaned forward, puzzled. “Then you have no wish to ever return to the surface? You prefer to remain at the bottom of the sea, despite the dangers?”
Rufio laughed with a flourish of his hands. “Return to the surface?” he mimicked. “What on earth for, man? We have everything here. Everything. Cinnabar is a paradise — a paradise we guard jealously. The last thing we want or need is to have surface men become even aware of our existence. We are far more content to allow your people to believe our land is but a fable. Surface ways would only destroy us, a civilisation so far ahead of your own that it would take centuries for yours, or any other, to catch up.”
Christóbal threw a quick sideways glance at Aladdin before looking back at the complacent Legion Commander. “If all you say is true, señor, then for what purpose have my compadre and myself been forced here? If life in your world is so perfect, and we are but primitive people from lands you seek no contact with, then why is your paradise in such need for our help?”
Flavius’s eyes drifted darkly toward Rufio.
“Shaman pleaded with me to make this voyage,” said Aladdin. “He told me your people were facing extinction, that without our aid, your city beneath the sea was all but doomed.” He met the Legion Commander’s gaze level-eyed. “That’s a very different assessment from the one you’ve given us today.”
Rufio bit his lip, his grey eyes losing a measure of their vitality. Aladdin leaned back and studied him carefully; his host had gone to great pains to expound on the superiorities of Cinnabar, its marvels and scientific achievements, which dwarfed those of the surface. That Cinnabar’s accomplishments and capabilities went far beyond anything he had ever seen, there was no question. But Aladdin was not a fool, nor did he wish to be treated like one. Something was very wrong here in the undersea paradise, something he’d sensed and felt from the moment of arrival. And it was not merely the antagonisms displayed between army commanders and the ruling Privy Council. No, it was more. Much more. Something deep beneath the surface, which he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Perhaps,” offered Flavius with a sigh, “we haven’t been entirely honest.”
“Then what is the truth?”
With shoulders sagging, the aged general stared down blankly at the polished floor. Suddenly he seemed like a man steeped in hopelessness, a man who has carried a weighty burden, which had rarely been shared. “It is not easy for us to speak bluntly,” he said
in a quiet tone. “We are a proud and noble people. Understand that. We are not used to failure or needing the assistance of those whom our society considers inferior in every respect — ” He raised his head and gazed forlornly at the expressionless adventurer. “Listen to me, Aladdin; nothing said at this meeting has been a lie. I want you to believe that; you must believe that. Your own eyes shall see the proof of it.”
“I haven’t accused you of lying, General. That was not my intent.”
Flavius waved his hand in a small gesture. “I know. But certain facts of — er — our situation have been omitted. Facts that perhaps will clarify matters and put things in a slightly different perspective. The picture of Cinnabar we have painted for you is essentially an accurate one. Our noble history attests to these achievements. More than twenty centuries of glories and successes...”
It was difficult for him to speak; difficult for him to admit to total strangers — and maybe to himself as well — that this long history of stunning achievement was drawing to a close and, perhaps, gasping for its last breath in a way neither of the adventurers could possibly guess.
“For too long,” Flavius continued, “we have considered ourselves invincible. We have shut our eyes and been blind to the truth, that we can no longer master our fate and destiny; we can no longer even — ”
“Flavius!” barked the Legion Commander. Rufio shot a furious look at the old soldier. “You belittle our cause with defeatist talk. We’re rife with prophets of doom. We don’t need their venom spilled among the ranks!”
There was no anger in the general’s face as he turned to confront the commander of Cinnabar’s legions — only the face of a very tired old man who had lived too long. “We are alone now, Rufio. We’re not lecturing to boost morale, or taking to task subordinates who have come to question our policy every bit as much as you and I secretly do...”
“I have never questioned my orders, General,” Rufio hissed. “And if the day has come when you question your own, then it’s time you resigned your commission.”
Flavius parted his lips in a wry smile; years before, a younger Rufio had been his own adjutant, a smart, brave and ambitious officer, unwavering in loyalty and bravery. In those days, Flavius had tutored him well in a soldier’s arts and skills. Perhaps too well. Rufio had climbed quickly through the ranks, achieving his own command at an early age, becoming a valiant and capable commander who was worthy of the title. It had been with pride and admiration that Flavius had seen his young subordinate gain greater glory than his own; yes, and greater rank as reward for that glory. Now Rufio stood at the pinnacle of military authority. More than just Legion Commander, he was the living symbol and embodiment of Cinnabar’s highly trained and specialized forces. He was the highest ranking soldier of all, Commander of the Supreme itself. And it would be over his dead body that he would allow anyone — even an old and dear friend — to demean that command and what it represented.
“You have my resignation any time you wish to accept it,” said Flavius, tall and proud and cutting a noble figure despite his age and ills. Rufio grew redder; Crispin, properly silent in the presence of his august commanders, looked over at the angered soldier with unmasked shock. Never before had he realised the rift between them was so great.
Rufio chewed tensely at his lower lip. Slowly the rage subsided and his complexion returned to its normal colour. “You’re too old a dog to learn new tricks,” he said at length. “No, Flavius, I do not accept your resignation. Not today, not ever. Even as you declined to accept mine on that day, years ago.”
The friction melted. There was still love between these two, Aladdin saw; a friendship transcending the chasm which divided them.
“Go on, then. Speak your mind. But let it be understood by all that I need not share your beliefs.”
The aged soldier respectfully inclined his head toward his superior, then faced his two guests again. His thoughts, as he began to speak, drifted far back into history, to a time when the underworld continent had barely left its infancy. “The world of the Two Plates is essentially two separate and disparate land masses,” he said. “Connected at the centre by the barren waste you travelled, called the Outland. Cinnabar occupies the western mass; the eastern mass, is called Hellix. Another continent enclosed by another air bubble. A second undersea world.”
Aladdin’s jaw dropped “You mean you’re not alone?” The implications were astounding.
“No, we are not. As Cinnabar was born, so was the second half of the twin plates. They evolved in much the same fashion, but with many differences, as well. The Hellix empire extends from — ”
“By Allah, are there two civilisations beneath the sea?” cried the adventurer.
Flavius nodded slowly. “Yes. But we are now as different as whitetime is from darkout. Two totally dissimilar and unlike races, although once, thousands of years ago, we shared a common ancestry. We of Cinnabar remain, basically, men of the surface, adapting ourselves, through trial and error, science and careful study and practical application, to the environment into which we were thrust. On the eastern continent of Hellix it has not been the same.” Flavius paused, looking again toward the great map hanging behind Rufio’s desk. “I will not try to convince you that, in those early years, when simple survival was our paramount consideration, we of Cinnabar did out of honour what we were forced to do. No, quite the contrary. Hellix and Cinnabar warred, have always warred — each Fighting for the very survival of its own society.”
“I thought you said the sea provides abundance for all.”
“Indeed it does, my good Aladdin, indeed it does. But in those years, neither side had developed the capacity to harness that abundance. Perhaps we should have learned to share, to advance ourselves for the good of both. Yes, perhaps that’s what we should have done.”
“But it wasn’t what you did,” said Aladdin, thinking now of how many lives might have been spared in surface wars had the battling opponents used reason and mutual respect to settle their disputes. In that respect, it seemed, the Two Plates were no different at all from the nations of the surface.
“No, that wasn’t what we did at all,” Flavius drawled. “There was terrible hostility between us, atrocities too numerous to recount committed by both sides. We suffered, and in turn we made them suffer as well. Death and destruction, constantly, never ending, growing worse with the passing of time.”
“But why?” asked Christóbal. “Once you both developed the science to harness those resources, surely there was no longer need for bloodshed?”
“You still don’t understand,” Flavius muttered. “Remember I said that we of Cinnabar are essentially men of the surface world, adapting through science.”
Christóbal nodded, conceding that he did.
“Those of the eastern empire chose a different route. They adapted themselves to the facts of the world that surrounds them — the sea. Survival of the fittest. Those who were unable to adjust — and there were many — died. Those who remained became stronger and more fully able to blend into that hitherto alien world. A slow and painful process to be sure, but one that in the long run has served their cause very well indeed. For a long time, Cinnabar has had the upper hand. Now, it seems, the tables have turned at last. Where once we traversed the Two Plates with impunity, now we find ourselves hard pressed to even keep control of what we have. Hellix has seen to that. They are squeezing us, draining us, inch by inch. Devouring us as a frog swallows a worm — slowly.”
“Then you must sue for peace,” Aladdin said flatly. “Come to terms, even if those terms are not totally in your favour.”
Flavius laughed caustically. “No, that isn’t workable. Not any longer. Communication between us is out of the question.”
“Communication between us,” interjected Rufio, “is not even possible, any longer.”
“You were right,” said Aladdin, gloomily. “I don’t understand.”
The Legion Commander folded his arms and glared at the adventur
er. “How can you sue for peace a race that has become a master of its natural world? An enemy that no longer needs to share even the air we breathe? An army that has reversed and made a mockery of evolution? Throwbacks, perhaps, to what life was ten million years ago — a people developed more nearly into fish than into men?”
Chapter Fourteen
The schools of small fish behind the glass moved in a swirl among the minuscule plants and rocks; Aladdin stared into the aquarium, hypnotized by the miniature sea world alive before him. The glass enclosure, six meters wide and half as high, was almost a perfect replica of the underwater continent known as the Two Plates, carefully proportioned to scale. On the right side of the continent, set upon a plateau of exotic dark coral, stood a model of Cinnabar itself. Its steeples and towers were so lifelike, he could even recognise the symmetrical lines of the Pavilion. On the other side of the dark plateau, a lesser dome sheltered the blurry outlines of Hellix, a grim and brooding mass of irregular shape. Wedged between Cinnabar and Hellix was the barren waste of the Outland, its own dome dwarfed by the other two. Monumental peaks and vast canyons surrounded the entire continent, and a range of gigantic behemoths loomed over the Two Plates.
Stony coral, flora, and fauna in colourful array clung to the fine greenish mud of the pebbly ocean floor. Loveliest of all were the fish themselves: tiny lancet fish, silver, with dagger-like teeth; black-striped angels, motionless; blue-banded gobies, moving like eels as they scoured the bottom for food; deep-water species, and so many other varieties of strange fish that even an old sailor like Christóbal could not name them.
“The seabed has a very high organic content,” Crispin was saying as the two adventurers gaped silently. There was pride in his tone as he told them about his subterranean world. “Richer and more fertile than any surface farmland.” He described how Cinnabar’s fishermen, setting out from the locks in airtight submersible vessels, used steel-coiled nets to draw in their endless catches; how the underworld men of science had slowly gleaned new ways of proliferating the ocean bed’s vast stores of vegetation and enhancing it to meet specific needs and popular tastes. Aladdin only half-listened, confused at times by the soldier’s lengthy and technical explanations. His mind drifted to the beautifully silent enclosed world coming to life.
The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar Page 90